Remnants

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

I grabbed hold of his arm and yanked him back to me, hearing the clatter of horse hooves approaching. We stood there, clinging together, watching as guards from the gatehouse came tearing down the road we’d left minutes ago. As soon as they passed around the bend, Ronan lifted the ladder up and into the cave, and we hurried out and took to the second, leading to the next level. I didn’t wait for him to cajole me onto it — there was no time.

  Thankfully, the next cave was empty too, and we moved to the third, each time removing the ladders behind us. But on the next one, the bottom rungs were missing, and I made the mistake of looking down. Ronan grabbed my chin and forced me to look him in the eye. “Just like the trees, Dri,” he said, releasing me and leaning down and give me a leg up. “Say it,” he grunted.

  “Just like the trees,” I bit out. I clambered upward, fighting to concentrate on one handhold at a time and not give in to my utter panic. He made do on his own, somehow right behind me, just as we used to in the Valley’s trees. He’d always been able to make the first limb — the hardest part for me. Well, that and coming down.

  We were almost to the top of still another ladder, three-quarters of the way up the cliff, when we heard more horses approaching from the monastery. We couldn’t see our enemies, but we could hear them now, shouting, steadily nearing us. They were moving efficiently, smartly, trying to find where we’d left the road. We froze, and for a moment I wondered if they wouldn’t see us clinging to the ladder, but then knew that was a false hope. Undoubtedly, they were well used to climbing, and they’d likely make the first level, even without the ladder. How fast might they overtake us? We could hold them off for a time, given our superior position, but for how long, without food or water or sleep? We were hopelessly outnumbered. And now trapped.

  “Dri, to your right,” Ronan said, and my eyes traced the rocks. I saw what he did — a shallow ravine, sloping inward, but the rocks on which we’d have to climb were far apart, terribly slim. “You can do it. Go. Now.”

  His tone brooked no argument, and I reached out a trembling hand for a handhold, then a foothold. I’d always followed Ronan in any climbing exercise. Not led him. It helped me to concentrate on what he was doing, then reflect it. Here I was exposed, as high as most trees in the Valley, liable to fall and take Ronan with me.

  Everything in me told me to go back to the relative safety of the ladder, but I knew that would ultimately lead us to death, rather than only the possibility of death on the rocks, so I forced my other hand and foot from the ancient wood and set to scrambling right, into the shallow ravine and hopefully out of eyesight. Seconds later, Ronan followed suit.

  The sounds across the water carried, making our enemy seem impossibly close. I waited for them to spot us and shout, even as I made myself concentrate on finding the next handhold, the next toehold. “Go,” Ronan whispered.

  “I’m going!” I bit back, reaching overly far for my next step. My toe missed it and I gasped as I felt nothing but air.

  “It’s okay,” Ronan said, hand at my back. “Easy. Easy.”

  “ ‘Go,’ then ‘easy,’ ” I griped, and I felt his rueful smile even though I couldn’t see it.

  “Go, as quickly as you can and still remain safe,” he said.

  “Got it. No problem.”

  The moment of a shared smile — the sense of normalcy, humor, in the midst of terror — gave me the extra measure of calm I needed. For a time, we moved upward at a steady pace, and my heart leaped when I saw the top come into view.

  Ronan grunted as one of the rocks to which he clung gave way, clattering down the cliff below us, then down the crack toward the river. We stopped, stock still, waiting. Slowly, Ronan turned his head, back toward the river. I could see nothing, his body blocking mine.

  But I didn’t need him to turn back to me for me to know — we’d been spotted. “Hurry,” he grunted, already moving upward beside me.

  Our only chance was to make the top of this cliff.

  Because they were coming.

  CHAPTER

  31

  Blue sky widened above us. Ronan chose an alternate route, made the top of the cliff first, looked around, then reached down for my hand. I grabbed hold, wrist to wrist, and he lifted me to the top. We stood together a moment, arms around each other, panting, turning in a slow circle, then seeing we were alone, and temporarily safe, we separated, hands on knees, each trying to gain our breath. Immediately to our west were the towering, gray mountains, disappearing into a ring of clouds that we’d glimpsed when we crossed the Great Expanse. To the south was another desert.

  “I’ve had enough with deserts, haven’t you?” I panted. Raniero had told us to head to the mountains, likely knowing we’d find safety, familiarity among the trees. But the first of the forest was a good mile away. “Think we can make that?” I asked. “Before our enemies find their way up here?”

  “Think we need to try,” he said.

  “Let’s go.” We set off in a steady jog. Within five minutes, we knew the mountains were farther than a mile, and I looked over my shoulder anxiously.

  “Eyes ahead, Dri,” Ronan said, grimacing through his obvious pain, repeating what our trainer had taught us to do. Focus on the goal, he’d always said. See yourself as reaching your goal, rather than concentrating on what lies between you and what you seek.

  We ran a mile, then two, then three, I guessed, slowing only when we were close enough to smell the trees. Even then we walked briskly, Ronan turning to scan the dry fields, but there was no one in pursuit. “Why is he not after us?” I said, turning a slow circle. “Surely Keallach has the resources — ”

  “He let us go,” he said, as troubled by it as I. “He must have chosen to let us go.”

  “And where are the others?” I said, my voice sounding strangled with fear. Niero, Vidar, Tressa, Bellona, Killian. We kept expecting to see a pair of them behind us, even in front of us, waving from the edge of the woods. But there was no one.

  “Vidar and Bellona jumped into the river,” he said grimly.

  I looked to the left, knowing the current led that way. “They’ll come out near that other desert.”

  “Probably.”

  But Killian and Tressa had crossed the bridge and begun climbing from the start. That should’ve put them closer to us.

  “They’re fast,” Ronan said, obviously thinking along the same lines. “Killian and Tressa — maybe they’re already ahead of us. Making their way toward the mountains through that ravine over there, where we can’t see them.”

  “I hope so,” I said. “Because I don’t want to tackle what we have ahead of us alone, Ronan.”

  Dread filled him. “Nor do I.”

  “What do you think happened to Niero?” I dared to ask. I wanted him to tell me that he thought he’d escaped, that he —

  “I don’t know. But he’s strong, Dri.”

  Stronger than you would believe, I thought, remembering the man’s naked back, the scars from a hundred wounds, his ability to heal … It gave me hope. Hope that we’d see him again.

  We reached the first trees and turned, gripping hold of them as if the slender trunks might infuse strength into us. We looked back across the dry plain and still saw nothing. Just tumbleweeds blowing across the prairie leading to the desert. “C’mon,” he said, taking my hand.

  But that is when we heard the metallic click of a gun hammer, then another.

  “Stay where you are,” said a woman.

  “Raise your hands to your head,” said a man.

  Ronan and I shared a what now glance, slowly put our hands to our heads, and turned. I reached out, trying to get a sense of these people, but all I could gather was fear, the desire to protect themselves. My cuff registered nothing, neither hot nor cold, remaining completely still. I wanted to slap it, as if it might be asleep when I most needed it, but I didn’t want to call attention to my adornment, or those Ronan carried at his waist.

  “Who are you?” bit out the woman, sliding the barrel of t
he gun under my chin as the man put his against Ronan’s temple.

  “We mean you no harm,” I said, looking at the dark-haired, olive-skinned woman at my side. Her round eyes were narrowed in suspicion. She was shorter than I, but strong, dressed in what appeared to be animal pelts. “I am Andriana, of the Valley. This is my friend, Ronan.”

  “What’d you say your name was?” said the woman, pressing the gun harder.

  “An-Andriana.” Wanting to add that it was hard to talk with a gun barrel under your chin.

  She turned so she could get a better look at my face and then glanced over at the man.

  “What are you doing here?” the man ground out.

  “We are running,” Ronan said honestly, “from the monks that inhabit that canyon to your east.” I understood his methods. There was no point in lying. The monks could show up any minute and these people would know the truth; our only hope was in sharing a common enemy.

  The man and woman shared another meaningful look and then lowered their weapons. “Then you’ll be needing shelter for the night,” the man said, resting his rifle across his shoulder. “Those monks are the worst at night. They like to try and surprise those they hunt in their sleep.”

  I shivered at his words, remembering the flower on my pillow — the silent entry and exit of the man I now knew as Keallach.

  But the pair had already turned and took to a small trail through the woods. It was as if they expected us to follow, and if we didn’t, they didn’t care. They were concentrating on getting away themselves. After about fifteen minutes’ climb, they paused beside the carcass of what I recognized as a deer, even though I’d never seen one myself, and the man took a machete from his back and swiftly hacked the doe into four quarters, gathered the entrails in a sack, then wiped his blade in the mossy bank to his side. “Each of you take one,” he grunted, then lifted his portion and set off again.

  The small woman followed suit, with me right behind her. I grimaced as blood dripped down her back, staining her leather shirt, but then I saw it was the most recent of many layers. These two were clearly hunters, and headed back to what I hoped was a village, with some safeguards from any enemy who tried to infiltrate them. The doe’s hide felt wiry in my hand, the hoof and leg like a club, the meat heavy on my shoulder. All my life, I’d eaten mudhorse and mutton, but we’d never seen anything like this deer in our Valley. They’d long since been hunted out.

  We climbed and climbed until my thighs ached in protest. Then we headed south along a slippery slope of rock scree, which set us sliding, again and again. We rounded the mountain an hour later, and paused on a small saddle, looking out and down to miles and miles of green, rolling hills and smaller mountains, their peaks about level with us now. In the distance, I thought I spied horses running down a valley. In another was what I thought was a sprawling farm, with neat, green rows that went on for miles, a thousand times larger than Dagan’s field near the Hoodoos.

  We turned and entered a small cave, turning sideways to squeeze through, one by one. The farther in we got, the darker it became, and the man who led us paused to strike flint and then blow on a pile of brittle dry grasses. Quickly, he set a torch into it, and immediately the entire cavern was illuminated.

  Ronan’s hand slipped around mine as we gazed upward. Directly above us were countless stalagtites, eerie in the dancing shadows cast by the torchlight. But before us was a massive, flat wall, covered in ancient paintings and words and dates from as far back as the War. There were quotes and maps and names, all mishmashed together, a collective wall of village memory, by the looks of it. But then my eyes settled on more of the words, reading them, really reading them. Whoever dwells in the shadow of the Most High will rest in the shadow … They were sacred words. Words I’d been taught as a child, passed down from one generation to the next but never, ever written down. Not as Asher had taught his little children. Not as these cave dwellers dared to do.

  “Yo-your people,” I stammered. “They’ve been here since the War?”

  “Since before the War,” said the man, picking up his quarter of the deer. “Since before things became … adverse for people of the Way. My people could see it coming and fled.” He looked directly at me. “We rise now because we knew you were coming.”

  My armband warmed to his words and the flame of his torch seemed to grow brighter. Whatever they meant, I knew then that we were among friends. If they would only agree to aid us.

  “Come along,” the man said, turning to go through a tunnel on the far side of the cave. The woman followed me and Ronan.

  The tunnel dipped and rose, curved and curved again until I had no sense of how deep into the mountain we were. But my armband hummed the farther we walked, encouraging me onward. We heard the laughter before we reached the next chamber. Women singing, working side by side, pounding out some sort of paste in rounded stones with pestles. In a smaller room, children sat in a half circle around what appeared to be a teacher, writing letters and numbers on a wide, flat stone with a white-chalk rock. Men and women worked together on stretching hides across wide rings, perhaps to dry them out. In the corner, two men wove together strands into some sort of net.

  But one by one, as they spied us in the doorway, they quieted and then rose.

  The women were first; an older woman tentatively came closer. She took my hand. “Can it be? Are they as he has foreseen?”

  “Only one way to find out,” our guide said, nodding. Now my armband was thrumming with the joy of a fellow Ailith nearby, and Ronan squeezed my hand, hope and excitement filling his heart. Every one of the people from the cave followed behind us.

  We went through another tunnel and smelled the trees before we exited the rocks and could see them. We paused, in shock. In front of us was an entire village, spread through the limbs of trees larger than I had ever seen, trees that had to be a millennium old. Small houses nestled among them, connected by suspended bridges. I gasped as a small boy took to a rope and swung over to the next house, a hundred feet from the ground.

  But Ronan was staring at another young man, in a small house at the edge of the settlement. He was on a narrow bridge, arms akimbo, staring our way.

  As if he had expected us.

  “Dri …”

  “I see him.”

  The hunter looked from us to the young man and back again. “As he’s foreseen you.”

  My armband seemed almost hot as we took to the first bridge and moved toward our brother, and he toward us. He moved like he had spotted family, and even at a distance I could read the joy, the warm recognition in his heart. He had to be Ailith. He had to be!

  We rounded a huge tree that was bigger than my house. I tried to not look down, terrified by the height and meager rope that stood between me and a fall that would surely kill me, instead choosing to concentrate on the brother ahead of us.

  And then he was there, across the bridge. Ronan grinned back at me and headed down to greet him, seemingly unaffected by the bounce and sway of it. I waited near the relative safety of the tree, wringing my hands in agitation. The men met midway, clasping arms immediately and smiling. Then the other one turned and followed Ronan back to me.

  He was as dark as the huntress who had found us, and thin, shorter than I but clearly very strong. He took my arm and smiled into my eyes. “You are Andriana.”

  “I am,” I said, gaping at him. “How did you know?”

  “Because the Maker had given me your name years ago.” Ronan hovered beside us. “And your eyes … Andriana, I would’ve known your eyes anywhere.”

  “He told us,” said the male guide who had led us up the mountain. “We have long been on the lookout for an Andriana with blue-green eyes.”

  “My sister,” the Ailith said, grinning at me. “My brother,” he said to Ronan. “I am Chaza’el. And we have much to discuss.”

  CHAPTER

  32

  But first,” Chaza’el said, “you have traveled far, and you are weary, injured. You will
rest over here, in that house,” he said, gesturing to a tree house a couple hundred feet away. “You’ll find everything you need. Bathe. Eat. And then come and see me in our gathering place, back in the cave. My people like to learn of new things, and new friends, together.”

  “Chaza’el,” Ronan said, “the monks from the Wadi. I fear they will track us to the mountain and — ”

  The small man shook his head. “But they will not get farther. They’ve tried again and again through the years, but our hunters are adept at hiding their tracks. Never have they made it to the cave dwellings, let alone this far side of the mountain. Rest. We will make sure you are safe.”

  “Forgive me, brother,” Ronan said, rubbing the back of his neck. “But as Andriana’s knight, I must insist that we see your Ailith mark. I mean you no offense.”

  “Of course,” he said with a bright smile. “As my people must see both of yours. They are very protective of me. Wear something that allows it when you come, yes? They will be delighted to see another of my visions coming to pass.” He turned to go.

  “Where is your knight, Chaza’el?” I called, looking over my shoulder at him. “Every Remnant has a knight.”

  “Indeed,” he said, and the grief I felt from him then sent me seeking Ronan’s hand. “She died last year.” His eyes met ours. “To save me.”

  Ronan’s fingers entwined with mine, a surge of protection running through him.

  “I-I’m so sorry.”

  “Yes,” Chaza’el said, “we all lost a sister that day. Perhaps you felt it, even from afar?”

  “I-I don’t know.” I didn’t remember it, if I had.

  “I see,” he said, his dark brows lowering, as if our lack of recognition deepened his sorrow. As if she had deserved at least that much respect. He looked outward. “We are on the edge of Pacifica,” he said. “Terribly near our enemies. We are safe here, but down there … We must take caution.”

  Ronan and I nodded and Chaza’el turned to go. We walked down a bridge — me clinging to the ropes on either side all the way, forcing myself to take one step after another — around another tree, then to the second bridge that led to the house where we’d been sent. Ronan opened the small door and walked in, waiting for me to enter before closing the door behind me. I leaned against the innermost wall, closing my eyes and panting. “Trees,” I said. “Why’d Chaza’el have to live in the tallest trees we’ve ever seen?”